These are the first chapters, in a later draft than I posted earlier.
The
Dark Lady Pays a Visit.
There
were few intellectual things we humans could do today that the
machines couldn’t
do better. One of those was dealing with the unexpected or unusual,
the outliers. The Dark Lady was one of those. Oh boy was she ever.
The
detective business had been slow lately. That meant either the skills
or the morals of the populace had been improving. The smart money was
on the skills. My partner Paul Bigelow and I were sitting in my
office, on the fifth floor of a dilapidated office building watching
the traffic flow on the interstate below us when she called. A woman,
dressed in black and wearing a veil. It looked good on her, and had
the side benefit of making visual recognition difficult. She walked
in and gave Paul the glad eye. Paul, always one for extending his
family sideways returned it. While they chatted I took the EM
scanner, an old-fashioned analog box one some long-dead ham had built
to tune his antennas and walked around her. She didn’t
flinch as I moved it up and down her shapely body.
“She’s
clean. No wireless.” Maybe she’d left her cell at home. Though if
she were a real spook she’d be using spread spectrum and we’d
miss it with that scanner.
“OK
Babe, what’s your problem?”
“There’s
this man. My boyfriend. I want him followed.”
“Stalkings
illegal.” I said. Paul nodded then said, “Unless you need
information, but why not ask?”
“The
machine? No thanks. Anyway he’s a geek, a real hacker. Knows his
way around the net.” She paused, “and outside of it.”
I
wondered if we were meeting with a member of the mutual impedance
society. In which case Paul and I were in for a few days of intense
questioning. That is if we were innocent, the probes would come later
if we couldn’t
account for ourselves.
“Look
Ma’am,” I said, “This man, he’s not wanted or anything.
What’s this about?” It was usually money or sex with a woman.
Sometimes both.
She
ignored me and smiled at Paul. Then she said, “I
can see you’re the sympathetic one.” Paul was moy
sympatico
as they say, especially if there was a dame involved. He told me,
“Alan,
leave this one to me. It’s just another divorce case. I’ll get
her particulars and find who or what else this geek of hers is
screwing.”
I
thought for a moment, something about it bothered me. It didn’t
bother me enough to make me want to ask questions though. Thinking
about it, that was my first error.
I
said, “Sure
thing Paul. Handle it. I’m going home, maybe stop for a drink on
the way and see what I can pick up.” Usually it was just the tab. I
started for the door, then said, “Make sure you get the earnest
money up front.” These personal cases often got nasty with a
vengeance.
After
I left it occurred to me that there didn’t
seem much point in going home, nor was there any point in getting
smashed in a local dive. Instead, I decided to see what I could scare
up downtown, in the big city. The easiest way to the good bars and
hot night clubs was to catch the old commuter rail line. I stopped on
the way to BART and picked up my cell. I parked her in a neighbor’s
house, tied into their solar panel to charge during the day.
She
complained, as usual, “Why
don’t you keep me with you? I like it when I’m with you, it’s
boring sitting here all day watching the birds.”
“Babe,
listen, the kind of people I deal with don’t want to talk to the
machine.”
“I
wish you wouldn’t call him that. He has a name.”
“And
I’m sure he’s very nice too. Tough. Thing is, babe, if they could
find their answers by asking him, they would. It’s the thing that
keeps Paul and me off relief and pays for your charging and my
tequila.”
“Alan,
she’s been calling. A couple times this evening, and she’s
lonely.”
“Who?”
As if I didn’t know.
“Celine.”
Paul’s wife.
“What
was it this time?”
“Seeing
as Paul will be busy on a case, she was wondering if-”
“If
I’d like to come around for dinner and a drink?”
If
my cell could have blushed, it would have. Instead, it dryly said,
“Yes,
how’d you guess?”
“Celine
asks that nearly every time Paul’s away. It’s easier that hitting
the bars and looking for a pickup.” Especially once her looks began
to go.
“Why
don’t you?”
“Paul’s
not the sharpest knife in the drawer, good eye-candy for the divorce
and adultery trade, but limited career prospects. She’d divorce him
in a minute if she got her hooks into someone better. Besides, you
don’t mess with your partner.”
“So
you say you’re going somewhere with your career? Doesn’t seem
like it Alan.”
“Babe,
I’m here because I want to be. You can ask the machine about me any
time.”
“He
was asking about you this afternoon. Why don’t you chat to him?”
“I
have my reasons, Babe. He knows what they are.”
“Still,
Alan, he sounded lonely.”
“Maybe
I should hook him up with Celine.” The humor escaped my cell.
“I
don’t think she could keep up with him.”
“Babe,
this conversation isn’t going anywhere.” When you start arguing
with an ‘answer bot’ it’s time to stop.
“Yes
Mr. Blake.”
“Good,
now look up some wild, rough places for a fun night out. I’m off
work and need to relax.”
“You
know you’re attracting the wrong kind of attention by doing that.”
“I
want to attract some more of the wrong kind of attraction tonight.
Where’s the hot club?”
I
never did find out where the hot club was that evening. The train
scraped and slid to a stop at the old airport station halfway to the
fun parts of the city. After the doors wheezed their way open
Detective Brown got on. He strode down the aisle and sat beside me.
“Mr.
Blake?”
“Yes.”
“Mr.
Alan Blake.”
“The
same.”
“You’re
coming with me at the next stop.”
“Why?”
“I’d
rather not say in public. It’s important.”
“Am
I under arrest?”
“Not
yet. Not if you come quietly.”
“Is
it Paul?”
“Found
him in Sausalito.”
“Oh,
I presume not alive.”
“Definitely.”
The
train stopped and I followed him to a waiting car. The car door
opened for us, and after we got in, it drove off. The control program
competently slid through the traffic while a link to the machine
asked me several questions. It used a smooth fluid voice when it
said, “Alan,
was Paul working on a case?”
“That’s
Mr. Blake. Mr. Bigelow was working on what looked like a divorce.
Find the cheating husband, or maybe not a yet official husband.”
“Any
names?”
“Classified.
You have a search warrant?”
“Soon
enough. A little history might save you a lot of trouble.”
I
smiled, the machine knew damn all about my partner’s
case. “It might, but then I’m in the information business. I
don’t give away information.”
The
detective volunteered to soften me up. It would make his day.
“Later,
Detective.”
“Yo,
integrated-circuit boy. How do I even know Paul’s dead? All I have
is your word.”
“I
am not programmed to lie.”
“You’re
self-aware, aren’t you?”
“Of
course.”
“Then
you can lie if you want. It’s part of your program, fundamental to
it. Blumenthal’s theorem, if I remember correctly.”
The
detective punched me, hard. Then he said, “Don’t
disrespect the machine again.”
“Detective
Brown, please restrain yourself. Al- Mr. Blake understands more than
he lets on. Don’t you Mr. Blake?”
“No
comment.”
“We’re
old friends, Mr. Blake and me. Aren’t we Alan?”
The
car slowed to a stop and then retraced its way back to the highway.
The machine continued, “I
see that I will have to show you. It’s an hour’s drive.
Meanwhile, what is your favorite music?”
“4’33”
by John Cage.”
“Very
funny.” It put one of the latest rag-hop bands on. Full volume. No
one ever said the machine didn’t have a warped sense of humor. In
fact, that was a critical part of being self-aware.
An
hour later and miles from anywhere, the car pulled to a stop on a
dirt road off of route 1 south of Santa Cruz, not Sausalito. When the
door popped open, Detective Brown led me to an erosion gully at the
base of the coastal range. There was a crimelab team finishing up. I
took one look at the crumpled body in the bottom of the gully and
turned away.
“Not
much I can do here. Where was he shot?”
“Whaddya
mean?”
“No
blood, he was dumped here. Who found him, and why so soon? It isn’t
as if this is the embarcadero.”
“We
thought maybe you’d know.” I could see him tensing his fist,
hoping for another chance to soften me up. Then I remembered, it was
selection week and he had a teenage boy.
I
returned to the car and asked the machine, “OK
chips, what’s going on here?”
“Alan,
nothing’s going on.”
“And
I’m a monkey.”
“Actually
you’re a hairless ape, but I’ll let that pass. Is something
bothering you?”
“This
stinks, and I don’t mean the smell of death. When was Paul’s
death reported?”
“Now
you’re asking me for information. Need I remind you, that you,
yourself were less than cooperative?”
“Lock
your goon out and we can talk.”
“Detective
Brown, would you please leave us, and Mr. Blake, I would prefer that
you not refer to hardworking members of the SFPD as ‘goons’. It
is not good for their morale and, I might add, your safety.”
Brown
gave me a glare that would have torn me apart had photons mass. I
said, “Sorry
about the name, but I need to talk to Mr. Chips here alone.”
Brown
scowled but obeyed his master. After he left the door sealed behind
me, and the machine asked, “Was
Paul working on a case?”
“Yes,
he was asked to tail some ‘bro for a broad.”
“A
broad?”
“Didn’t
catch her name, but tall, pretty and dressed in black. Striking dame
that I could recognize again. Now how about it?”
“Paul’s
cell vanished about 6. Probably thrown in the bay from the Oakland
Bridge. A call was placed from Santa Cruz about 9 and told the local
constabulary to take a look here.”
“Can
you play the call? I might recognize the voice.”
He
did, and I didn’t.
It wasn’t the dame in black in any case. Not unless she’d grown a
pair in the meantime and begun to sing in the bass section of the
choir.
“Paul
was paid in cash. About a thou, I’d expect.”
“Cash?”
“Harder
to trace, and we can choose what to report to the man.”
“I
can have you up for tax fraud. It’s not that hard to trace.”
“I
warned him about the microprinted RFID. How much was on him when-”
“Not
much, maybe twenty. Not from her. Does, sorry, did he carry a piece?”
“No,
not usually. What was he shot with?”
“An
old 9mm, three shots. Close range and from the front. Doesn’t look
like he tried to defend himself, so he was probably surprised.”
“Or
he knew the shooter. Either way I’d say he was surprised. Anything
else?”
“There’s
no record of anyone firing.” Modern weapons had a network
connection that relayed when and where they were fired. Those in the
killing trade just shifted to older and more anonymous technology,
usually knives, but the odd antique still figured in crime. Usually
those were the crimes where killing was the main objective.
I
thought for a moment, “Or
someone’s deleted the record.”
“This
woman, she wasn’t in the mutual impedance society was she?”
“I
wondered about it. She described the man she wanted tracked as a
hacker. Wouldn’t surprise me if one of them was.”
“You’ve
been most helpful Alan. I will not forget.”
“Trouble
is Chips, you don’t forget.”
The
car door opened and Detective Brown climbed in. The machine said,
“Mr.
Blake has been most helpful. Time we escorted him home. You won’t
be traveling anywhere exotic in the next few days, will you Alan?”
“No.”
“Good,
I’d hate to have to interrupt your vacation.”
Mrs.
Delacruiz smacked her ruler hard on the desk in front of Sarah
Gonzales. It was the last class of the afternoon at Chavez Senior
High and the end of long day, both for her and her students.
“Sarah,
those don’t look like history notes. More of your famous ‘Lord
Pershore’ story?”
Sarah,
a thin almost seventeen year old, student looked up at her teacher,
blushed and said, “Yes
Mrs. Delacruiz.”
“I’ll
take that.” She took the notebook from Sarah, “You can see me
after the end of school, if you want it and the rest of them back.”
“Now
class, where were we? Who can tell me about the cause of the
breakup?”
A
couple of hands went up, including Sarah’s.
“Yes,
John?”
“Football,
the SEC didn’t like the big ten.” The class laughed while Mrs.
Delacruiz glared. She rapped her ruler a few more times and
eventually restored order.
She
said, “Very
funny, and completely incorrect. Anyone else?”
Sarah’s
hand was the only one that remained up.
“Yes,
Sarah. Were you paying attention.”
“No
I wasn’t. But I know the answer, the immediate cause was the
convergence. When the first machines became self-aware people were
scared and the federal government wasn’t able to assert its
authority in the unrest that followed. The splitup reflected
underlying tensions in the nation at the time. The south reformed a
confederation, where such technology was banned. Texas went it’s
own way and formed the ‘People’s Republic of Texas’, while
Nevada and part of Utah simply split off to become the Free State.
The-”
“Very
good. Give someone else a chance to answer.”
“Yes
Mrs. Delacruiz.”
Mrs.
Delacruize went to the front of the room, then turned and said,
“State
standards mandate that I show you a presentation about the effects of
the breakup on social order and warn you about certain undesirable
groups. Before I turn it on, and please try to stay awake for it,
anyone remember what these groups are called?”
Once
again a few hands, Sarah’s
among them went up. Finally, when only Sarah’s remained, she said,
“Yes Sarah, what groups?”
“There’s
a home-grown resistance called the mutual impedance society which the
People’s Republic supports, and the Free State supports a
paramilitary group called the Free State Militia. They-.”
“They’re
criminal organizations dedicated to the overthrow of modern society
and don’t you forget it.” She dimmed the lights and a
state-mandated video came on. While she had seen this eight times
today, and countless times in the past, she still watched. It was
entrancing to see how our brave secret service fought the nefarious
terrorists who threatened to destroy society. She could imagine being
one of them, dressed in sharp clean clothing, while she chased down
the low-life scum. Then she started to read Sarah’s writing, became
caught up in it, and was surprised when the video ended.
She
stood up, and addressed the class. “You
know we have no class tomorrow, Friday.”
The
class replied in unison, “Yes,
Mrs. Delacruiz. It’s sorting day.”
“Don’t
forget that your homework is still due Monday. I expect I’ll see
you all again.”
“Yes,
Mrs. Delacruiz.”
“Please
don’t take it too hard when you’re not selected. It doesn’t
mean you’re a bad person.”
The
bell rang. The students jumped up and sprinted to their homerooms for
the final words from their principal, Mr. Guezman.
Mrs.
Delacruiz was packing her bag with papers to grade when Sarah knocked
on the classroom door.
“Come
in Sarah. I suppose you want your manuscript back.”
“Yes
please, Mrs. Delacruiz.”
She
went to her desk, opened a drawer and pulled it out. Then she said,
“Sarah,
are you expecting to be selected?”
“I
don’t know. I’m good at math. So there’s always a chance.”
“You’re
one of the best students in school.”
“That
doesn’t mean I’ll be chosen.”
“I
guess it doesn’t, but I’ll be disappointed if you aren’t.”
“Neither
of my brothers was, and they’re OK. I’ll be fine no matter what.”
Mrs.
Delacruiz laughed, “I
hope so. Anyway,” she pointed at the manuscript. “Worst comes to
worse, you can have a career ahead of you as a romance novelist.”
She handed it to Sarah “It’s good writing. I hope you have time
to keep up with your work at the academy.”
“If
I get there.”
“You
will. Where are you going now?”
“Tae
Kwon Do classes.”
“How
does your mother pay for them?”
“She
doesn’t. I have a scholarship.”
“A
scholarship?”
“Just
like my brothers. Jose went to music school and Xavier is at the
Davis trade school studying winemaking.”
“Interesting.”
“I
think it’s my father. He’s inside the jug, but has friends
outside.”
“I’m
sure he’ll be proud of you, no matter what happens. I hope not to
see you come Monday, but still make sure you do your homework.”
Lord
Pershore lent over Sarah as she lay in her bed. He had slipped into
her bedroom and thrown open the bed curtains in his passion. His
muscled, masculine yet hairless chest shown in the candle light as he
pulled the sheets down to reveal her quivering body. He paused to
examine her. Then he moaned “Oh
Sarah, you make my life complete.” She pursed her lips and he put
his hot ones on hers. They met and his tongue explored the recesses
of her mouth. Hers did likewise to his. He pulled back from her,
nodded, and said, “Are you ready?”
She
sighed, “Yes,
I am.”
He
reached down with his muscular forearms and tore at her nightdress.
Though silk and expensive it ripped easily with his efforts. The
ripping sound echoed through the stillness of the night. He sighed at
the sight of her fulsome breasts. “I
didn’t know you were so beautiful. You look even better without
your clothes.” He put his mouth to her nipples, first the right one
and then the left. She moaned in pleasure. Then he moved up and
kissed her neck, and finally her mouth. She guided his hand down
between her legs, loosening her for what she both feared and desired.
Sarah
moaned, and then awoke. Her mother was knocking on her door.
“Sarah,
get up! It’s almost time for school.”
“Mother,
I was having the best dream, ever.”
“You
don’t want to end up on relief or in prison like my no good
husband, do you?”
“No.”
“Then
you need to get to school. Get good grades and go to a good school.
Stop reading that romantic trash. I bet they won’t let you if you
get accepted to the academy.”
Sarah
rose and put her stocking feet on the cold floor. Her tattered old
‘Hello
Kitty’ nightgown was thick cotton, not silk, and the banded knit
socks she wore were hardly elegant. Then neither was she. A gangly
teenager with a taste for romance and math. Maybe in a few years, if
she were lucky, she’d meet someone who shared those tastes. If she
were really lucky, it would be someone at the academy.
As
she walked to the bathroom, she called, “Mother,
I’ll be ready soon. I need a shower first.”
“We’re
still rationed.”
That
mean a ‘navy
shower’. Shouting, “Yes Mother,” Sarah quickly wet herself,
then turned the shower off. After she soaped her thin and bony body,
she had a quick rinse. It got most of the dirt, but she never felt
clean after one.
Washed,
sort of, she returned to her room and tried to select the most
stylish of her outfits. It wasn’t
easy, since there was so little choice. In the end she picked jeans
and a clean shirt, what she always
wore. Breakfast was a quick quesadilla, followed by a kiss from
mother and another caution, “Do
well because you don’t want to end up like me.”
“When’s
father getting out?”
“You
know that as well as I do. When the,” her mother quickly looked
around then whispered, “Machine says he’s ready and not a second
before.”
She
grabbed her cell from the charger and headed off to high school. It
was the day she received her aptitude evaluations. The “apt’s”
or as some of her more literate friends called it, her “Owl levels”
were the gateway to a better life. That was if she had the aptitude
for something the machine needed. Otherwise, it might be a life of
supporting herself horizontally with her people skills, at least
until she was too old for that. Then she’d have to find some other
means of support.
She
walked by a team of diggers exposing an old water line for repair.
One of the younger men whistled and then said, “Hey
Beautiful.” He made an oh with the thumb and fingers of one hand
and put a finger from his other through it.
She
replied, “Get
lost creep.”
Her
cell asked her, “Why
did you say that? He was paying you a compliment.”
“No
he wasn’t. He was just being a jerk.”
Giving
the students the results of their aptitude exams, or ‘the
sorting’ was brutally simple. A man she’d never seen before came
to her homeroom. He was dressed in sharp business attire and wore a
discreet head mounted display in his glasses. He started at the
beginning of the alphabet and walked from student to student. The
lucky few heard their name and were given a quick gesture to go to
the front of the room. The others just heard their name, then sat and
cried, even the boys. She was near the end of the alphabet for her
room, “Galt, John, Gomez, Francis” the seats in front of her were
not picked, then it was “Gonzales, Sarah.” She looked up, the man
gestured with his thumb and she, unsteadily, almost in a dream,
walked to the front of the class. She didn’t hear him as he went
through the rest of her homeroom. Not that anyone else joined her.
The
man walked to the front of the room and told the three students who
stood there to go to the principals’
office. While the apt’s were supposed to be equal opportunity
tests, there weren’t many chosen from her school. Mr. Guezman was
waiting there for them. He said, “Fifteen chosen. That’s the most
we’ve ever had.” The other 3000 students would have to fare as
best they could.
The
fifteen of them nervously waited for their interviews. Being selected
on the tests was just the first step. They had to show that the tests
weren’t
an outlier in conversation with the interviewer. If anything were
more humiliating than not being selected, it was being selected and
then rejected at this step. Fortunately, the tests were usually
accurate, but it wasn’t uncommon to find a few teen-aged bodies
floating in the bay, below one of the bridges, after this step.
The
man who announced their results briskly strode past them and into Mr.
Guezman’s
office. They could hear him as he took off his eyewear and said,
“Damn, these things always make me a bit sick. I’ll need your
room.”
“Yes
sir.” Mr. Guezman briskly stood up, almost saluted and left. He
shut the door behind him, and beamed at his soon to be ex-students.
None of the fifteen could hear or see what was happening behind the
door.
The
man opened the door and called out a name. Its holder went in and
after a few minutes, left. They were hardly aware of where they were
as they floated down the hall. Eventually, after what seemed like
forever, he called, “Ms.
Gonzales.”
Sarah
stood, uncertain of what she should do. This was the first time she’d
been addressed as an adult, Ms. Gonzales, not Sarah. The man smiled
at her and said, “Please come in, I won’t bite you. I promise.”
She
walked in and sat in the chair in front of the desk. The man walked
around the desk and sat in Mr. Guezman’s
seat. No one sat there, not even the teacher who was filling in for
Mr. Guezman on the rare days he was absent. He had set up a visual
link to the machine beside him. He smiled again, and said, “Nervous?
I was when I was your age.”
Sarah
stuttered out, “Yes.”
“Don’t
be.” He pulled up a file on his display and started to read it. As
he read a frown crept over his face. She could hear him mutter, “This
is
going to be difficult.”
Then he looked up and the frown vanished. It was replaced by an
impassive stillness that was, if anything, far worse. “It seems,
Sarah, that you shouldn’t be here. These results.”
The
machine beside him spoke, “Mr.
Anderson. Please. I don’t make that kind of mistake. What seems to
be the matter?”
The
proceeded to discuss her as if she weren’t
there.
“She
doesn’t seem to have the depth we require. She is decent in logic
and is highly imaginative, but.”
“Have
you checked the date and signature?”
Sarah
drifted off into her own world.
Lord
Pershore pulled his sword and stealthily approached the highwaymen.
They bound Lady Sarah Jane Gonzales and were carrying her off to
their lair, a run-down public house near the Bath road. Then they
would have their way with her, but not if he had-
“Ms.
Gonzales, pay attention, please.” It was that man again. She stood
and said, “Well if I’ve failed, I’ve failed. I’ll just go
now.”
“No.
You haven’t. We’ve found the error. It looks like someone from
the resistance has been at work. You don’t know anyone in the
mutual impedance society?”
“What?”
“A
bunch of misfits, terrorists who do not like modern society.”
“No.”
“There
are two sets of records for your exam, Ms. Gonzales. They both have
valid signatures, but one just appeared last week. I should like to
ask you a couple of questions to see which is correct.”
“Oh,
all right. If you insist.” She sat down again and crossed her legs.
“There
is a fork in the road with two guardians, one always tells the truth,
the other always -”
“Ask
what the other would say, then do the opposite. I thought you were
going to ask me something hard.”
“OK,
Ms. Gonzales. I will. Prove that the square root of two is
irrational.”
“We
didn’t do that in school.”
“I
know. Show me what you really can do.”
“What
does irrational mean?”
“It
means you can’t write a fraction for it.”
“Oh,”
she paused for a few moments thought. “Then I guess I’d assume
the square root of two was a fraction, say a/b. Then you’d have a2
= 2b2.”
“Good,
what’s next?”
“Wait,
a and b can’t have common factors if they’re a reduced fraction,
but a2
and b2
are both even. So that’s
a contradiction.”
The
machine said to the man, “Mr.
Anderson, I believe we have the correct Ms. Gonzales. There’s a
small step she skipped, but the other Ms. Gonzales would not have
gone so far. Congratulations, Sarah.”
The
man rose and shook her hand. “I’m
afraid the other students will have left for the academy by now, but
we’ll arrange for a car.”
“Can
I call my mother to let her know? She’s worried about me. Didn’t
say so but I could tell.”
“I
would think that you will have time for a long conversation while
you’re on the way.”
They
walked together to the front of the school. Sarah could feel the eyes
of her ex-friends and former acquaintances staring with malicious
envy as she walked the now far too long hallways of Chavez High. When
they reached the front, a car was waiting for her. It said, “Ms.
Gonzales?”
“Yes.”
“I’m
here to take you away from all this.”
The
door opened, she entered, and after it closed, she waved goodbye as
the car sped off.
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